The nights starts like any other, with a line spreading from the front door of Mansion to some distant point miles down Washington Avenue. Joey Buddafucco says, "Forty dollars, get your money out!" And his voice is a hadouken, blasting down the sidewalk.

An army of red shirt enforcers (and giant dukes in suits and boots) surround the entrance to the Mansion. Inside, executive ladies collect the many giant stacks of cash and load them into registers.

There is smoke, and liquor; colored light, and bass. The DJ plays everybody's favorite song, and the staccato rhythm of high heel shoes clicking to the beat rings out wild like the steamy heart of this make-it-rain forest. Of course, this triple canopy is climate optimized.